Chloe: Maid of Smallville
by President Luthor
Summary: It's summer 2002. A lazy afternoon picnic leads Chloe into a fish-out-of-water scenario. It's a wacky, fluffy romp -- different from my usual fare. Tip: brush up on your French history. COMPLETE
1. CH 1

TITLE: 'Chloe, Maid of Smallville'  
  
RATING: PG-13  
  
TIMELINE: Summer, 2002 ... although there's a slight detour to 15th century France. Don't worry, it's not really an alternate universe. Things will work out in the end.  
  
DISCLAIMER: WB, DC Comics, and the show creators own all copyrights, etc.  
  
BACKGROUND: This is my first attempt at mindless, campy fluff. No real soul- searching angst and geo-political ramifications here. At least in this century! ;) A lazy summer BBQ at the Kent farmhouse leads Chloe into a fish- out-of-water situation. It's not an alternate universe - these are the characters we all know and love - but it may seem that way. Take it for what it is: a candy-flossed carousel ride. Chloe fans, enjoy, because she's front and centre.  
  
[Kent farmhouse]  
  
Jonathan Kent put a few more burgers on the BBQ grill. The annual Kent summer picnic.  
  
"Pete? You're back again? What is that - three burgers already?"  
  
"Hey, I'm still growing right?" Pete laughed as he seasoned burger #4.  
  
"Thanks for having us over, Mr. and Mrs. Kent," Lana beamed.  
  
"Oh, I'm glad you could all come over!" Martha Kent declared. "Everybody's busy most of the year - what with school, jobs, farm chores."  
  
Chloe nodded in agreement as she nibbled on a buttered corn on the cob.  
  
A late-model Porsche pulled up to the farm gates. Lex Luthor.  
  
"What's he doing here?" Pete grumbled. His mood soured the moment the most powerful man in Smallville stepped out of his car.  
  
"Lex! I'm glad you could come by!" Martha shook his hand.  
  
"I'd never pass a chance at a home-cooked meal," Lex replied - and handed her a bottle.  
  
"Wine? You shouldn't have!" Martha smiled.  
  
"Direct from Luthor Wineries. Our winery in the San Fernando Valley makes superb products." Lex scratched his head uncomfortably. "I was kind of surprised to receive the invitation ... considering Mr. Kent's feelings towards all things Luthor."  
  
"Actually," Martha added, "it was his idea. I just ran with it. He thought he should make an effort to know you a little better. I thought, 'Why not invite him to the picnic!"  
  
"Well, I appreciate the gesture," Lex nodded and joined Lana and Pete at the picnic table of appetizers.  
  
"Did you catch the Buccaneers-Sharks game on Monday, Pete?" Lex asked as he filled a plate full of chicken wings.  
  
"I sure did. The Sharks got their butts handed to them on a platter!" Pete gloated. A satisfying loss for the Luthor-owned team.  
  
"I take it you're a Bucs fan?" Lex inquired.  
  
"No, I'm just not a Sharks fan," Pete quickly piled some celery sticks and sat at another table.  
  
"So ... Lex," Lana interrupted what would have been an awkward moment, "What's the latest from Metropolis?"  
  
Lex collected some plastic forks and spoons. "Luthor Corp. is actively recruiting employees for its R&D plant, attendance at the Sharks has grown, we're making a pitch for either the Expos or Twins franchise after contractions ... business is good ..."  
  
Lana rolled her eyes. "I meant ... your father ..."  
  
"Oh." Lex nibbled on a carrot stick. "We're two peas in a pod."  
  
"Yeah, right. Well, if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me." She left and sat at Pete's table.  
  
Lex walked to the BBQ. "I'll have one burger, Mr. Kent."  
  
"Absolutely." Jonathan flipped a burger and masterfully tossed it onto a bun.  
  
"I want to thank you for inviting me," Lex stated, "I realize our relationship has been - tense - over the past few months. I just wanted to let you know I appreciate everything your family has done for this town."  
  
"I know it must be hard ... being the son of Lionel Luthor," Jonathan replied, as he grilled a few more patties.  
  
"Hard is a tactful way of putting it," Lex smirked, "my father casts a long shadow, that's true. I would hope that I have at least a little of my mother's generosity in me."  
  
"I hope so too," Jonathan answered.  
  
Clark arrived with a basket of apples. "Lex! Good to see you!"  
  
"Clark." Lex shook his hand. "Late for your own picnic?"  
  
Clark chuckled. "I hope my dad isn't giving you a hard time. He can be ornery at times."  
  
"Ornery?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "That's a term for grumpy old men."  
  
"Exactly," Martha laughed and nudged her husband's arm.  
  
Chloe was standing beside a picnic table - with a mouthful of burger.  
  
"Chloe Sullivan, hard-hitting reporter of the Smallville Torch ... wanna hear my master plan for worldwide conquest?" Lex joked.  
  
Chloe coughed. "That would be funny, if I didn't think it was possible. Luthor Corp. is one of the largest multinational firms on the planet!"  
  
"That maybe true, but I'm just a manager of a fertilizer plant in Kansas. I don't think the Saddam Husseins of the world will be knocking on my door to buy my cow manure."  
  
"So, Clark, how's summer?" Chloe asked.  
  
"The usual. Farm chores ... although I've begun writing a journal."  
  
"A journal, eh. The private thoughts of Clark Kent, writer. Must be interesting!" Interesting ... and revealing.  
  
"You'd better keep that journal under lock and key, Clark," Lex kidded, "or Chloe might accidentally unravel your dark secrets."  
  
"Secrets?" Clark wondered. This conversation is going places I don't want it to go.  
  
"I don't need a journal to uncover the secret of Clark Kent," Chloe confirmed, "I'm a journalist. I'll find out ... one way or another." She smiled mischievously at Clark.  
  
"What was that Dad?" Clark pretended, "You want more charcoal? Excuse me, Lex ... Chloe."  
  
Lex slid beside Chloe on the bench. "You like him, don't you."  
  
"We're good friends." Chloe tried to sound disinterested.  
  
"C'mon, Chloe. I see the way you look at him. I happen to know on good authority that Lana is no longer on his radar. Ask him out, would you?"  
  
"No." Chloe insisted. "No! I could never do that. I'm afraid that once we cross that bridge ... the friendship would be lost." She picked up the Entertainment section of the Smallville Ledger. "Hey, that Joan of Arc mini- series is back on CBS!"  
  
"Ah, yes, the Maid of Orleans. The warrior virgin saint who defied the English and saved the French Crown. Now there was a girl who took risks." He sipped his cola. "You could learn a few lessons from her."  
  
Maybe, she thought. She was also burned at the stake as a heretic and witch. Somehow, I think asking Clark out on a date would be much harder for me than poor Joan's mission. Ms. Maid of Orleans, you had it easy, girl. I'd take on the medieval might of England anyday.  
  
Ask Clark out? Not a chance!  
  
Chloe curled up in the hammock strung between two trees near the farmhouse. A light summer breeze drifted through the branches. The full meal lulled her into a mid-afternoon snooze.  
  
When she awoke, she brushed back her hair. Except her hair was cut.  
  
She looked at her face in the brook. There was a brook near the Kent farmhouse? Now I can't find the farmhouse!  
  
She shrieked. Her hair was closely cropped. Like a boy's. And her clothes. Metal plates ... armour. A tunic bearing the fleur-de-lis of the French Crown.  
  
"My lady, your army awaits your orders." It was Lana. I know the peasant girl-gypsy look is hot this summer, but Lana looks like a handmaiden.  
  
"Lana? Why are you dressed like that?"  
  
"I am sorry if my appearance offends you. I shall change at once."  
  
"No. Wait, Lana. What's going on here?"  
  
"You were napping. It was a long march. The town of Le Petit Ville still flies the banner of England. That shall change, by God's grace, once you enter the battlefield."  
  
Battlefield? "This might sound crazy, but why am I dressed like a knight? And why are you speaking with a French accent?"  
  
"We are in France, my lady. You are the legendary Maid of Orleans. Jeanne d'Arc, the saviour of France." Lana crossed herself.  
  
What the heck is going on here? Chloe wondered.  
  
"My lady," a blond-haired knight took off his helmet, "your army awaits your orders. The siege machines are in place."  
  
"Whitney?"  
  
"Whitney of Rouen, captain-general of the Dauphin Charles' soldiers, at your service." He bowed.  
  
Okay, okay, I get it, she nodded to herself, we're all playing roles in Joan of Arc: the mini-series. So where's Clark?  
  
A horse galloped. A black-gowned, tall man arrived. Whitney knelt. "Lord Abbot Clark."  
  
"Of the Kents?" Chloe asked.  
  
"No, of the Abbey of St. Luke's in Lorraine." Clark dismounted. "I am here to bless your campaign. Le Petit Ville must fall if we are to drive the English to the sea! The battle awaits." He strode to Chloe.  
  
"God speed on your mission, Maid of Orleans. France prays for you." Chloe frowned. Of all the roles to play, Clark plays the unattainable priest. This fantasy stinks!  
  
Pete appeared behind a tree. Grizzled, unshaven, a scar across his left cheek.  
  
"Lemme guess, Pete, you're like Morgan Freeman's Azeem in 'Prince of Thieves', right?"  
  
"Yeah, some Moorish mercenary recruited to kill English generals," Pete shrugged, "I don't even have a name yet! Hey, it's your dream right?"  
  
"Aha! Ishmael, welcome to the fight!" Whitney slapped Pete's shoulder. "You shall soon taste English blood!"  
  
"Uhh, whatever you say, man," Pete squinted in bewilderment, and nudged Chloe's shoulder. "Why couldn't you dream about 'The Matrix' instead? All these 'thys' and 'thees' are driving me crazy!"  
  
"We're stuck here until I wake up, so stick close. I'm Joan of Arc after all." They climbed a hill.  
  
In the valley below, thousands of French knights and foot soldiers looked up eagerly at their commander.  
  
"God be praised! The Maid of Orleans will lead us to victory!" Whitney declared.  
  
Clark, the abbot, began to make a grand crossing gesture in the air with his hand. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I bless this enterprise." All the soldiers knelt - bowed with their swords planted in the ground.  
  
"You'd better say something, you know, pep talk," Pete advised. "It's game time!"  
  
Chloe raised her sword. I feel like Braveheart! "For the glory of France! By God's grace, Le Petit Ville will fall!"  
  
A cheer roared across the valley. Le Petit Ville erred in siding with the damned English. The French would soon bring destruction to the fortified village.  
  
And Chloe, Maid of Smallville would lead the way ... 


	2. CH 2

[Back in 2002 ...]  
  
Chloe lay soundly asleep in the hammock.  
  
"Chloe? Dessert's ready." Clark said. No response.  
  
"The sleeping beauty doesn't want to wake up, eh?" Lex remarked. "Well, you know how the prince is supposed to wake Briar Rose, right?"  
  
"You sooo don't wanna go there!" Clark replied. The thought of kissing Chloe ... I won't go through that door. Lex laughed and returned to the picnic.  
  
Clark sat against the tree and ate an apple. Keeping watch over the sleeping beauty ...  
  
[Outside the rampart walls of Le Petit Ville]  
  
Thousands of French foot soldiers marched, drumming their shields with their swords. Before she could react, Chloe was hoisted onto a white horse and handed a helmet.  
  
"I can't see a thing!" she complained.  
  
Whitney handed her a pennant. A slim white banner with a golden fleur-de- lis flapped atop it.  
  
"It is the Banner of the Maid, my lady. So the troops will know who we are fighting for," Whitney explained.  
  
The horse raced down the hill. "Where are the brakes?" Chloe wondered.  
  
Pete shook his head. "Chloe's a city girl. Horses aren't her specialty."  
  
A hail of arrows halted their advance at the city gates.  
  
"Open these gates!" Whitney demanded. "These lands, by right of law and of God, belong to the Dauphin of France, Charles! You choose to defy the Maid of Orleans?"  
  
Jonathan Kent appeared atop the ramparts. "My forefathers have served the throne of England since the days of Richard the Lionheart! I do defy Charles! If you take Le Petit Ville, you shall have to slay every man to do so. I wish to address the Maid!"  
  
"Instill the fear of the Almighty in him," Whitney advised, "lest he choose death over negotiation."  
  
"Uhh, okay." Chloe removed her helmet. "Open these gates, for I am the Maid of Orleans of legend. Swear allegiance to the Dauphin, and I shall pray for your eternal soul. Defy me ... and the sins that follow shall fall on your head!"  
  
Jonathan gasped. "My quarrel is not with you, fair virgin." He glanced at his archers. "Let no one shoot the fair virgin of Orleans. He that does will meet his Maker. As for the rest of you French dogs, you shall not pass, I swear! I accept the guilt of my defiance. Archers, steady your aim."  
  
"Shields!" Whitney hollered. All the soldiers hid under their shields as volley upon volley of arrows showered on them. Many still fell - as arrows embedded in arms, legs and necks.  
  
"Great, you pissed him off, 'fair virgin'!" Pete frowned, as he huddled under a shield with Chloe.  
  
"Would you stop that?" Chloe grumbled. "'Fair virgin'? Why not broadcast it to all of France, you infidel!"  
  
Whitney assembled a battering ram crew, who immediately pounded away at the wooden gates. Boiling oil poured down on the crew, burning several of them to death.  
  
Half a dozen ladders rattled against the walls. A few defenders toppled one ladder, but the French continued to scramble up the ladders. A volley of rocks toppled several Frenchmen, but their numbers soon overwhelmed the archers.  
  
A loud creak groaned. "The gates are broken!" Whitney hollered. "Now, Ishmael, you can bring glory to your god with the deaths of these English traitors!" He lunged at an English soldier, impaling him with a lance.  
  
"Even in medieval times, Whitney's a big jerk!" Pete complained.  
  
Chloe swung her pennant at a peasant with a pitchfork. "In the middle of something here, Pete!"  
  
Pete stood before the peasant. "You wanna throw down with the baddest Moor this side of Europe?" The peasant got the message and fled with the rest of the refugees.  
  
Chloe saw Jonathan packing his bags. "We must capture the Lord Mayor! They will not defy us once we have him!" She led a party of French knights to the northern gates. A thatched house had been set aflame ... and the debris blocked the gates. There would be no escape for Mr. Kent  
  
Chloe drew her sword, placing the point at Jonathan's chest. "Continue to defy the Maid at your peril! I cannot guarantee the safety of your womenfolk." Womenfolk? Pete obviously thought that was ridiculous and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Please, spare them, I beseech you, fair virgin!" Jonathan whimpered.  
  
"One other thing, no one calls me 'fair virgin' any longer. I'll accept 'my lady', 'Maid of Orleans', or 'the Maid' on informal occasions ... lest you taste my steel!"  
  
Jonathan scraped the floor. This is getting pathetic, she thought. "My apologies. I surrender Le Petit Ville. I insist on flying the Banner of the Maid, though, not the emblem of Charles. Force me to swear an oath to Charles and I will gladly accept death!"  
  
Whitney prepared to deliver a killing blow with his sword, but Chloe held his arm. "He has sought my protection, captain-general. The mayor's allegiance to me demonstrates his acceptance of God's will. Which is the return of Charles to the French throne. I accept your surrender, Lord Mayor." Chloe glanced at her battle-hardened men.  
  
"No one is to be harmed or violated. This town is now under my personal protection!" A few soldiers grumbled at the lost loot and pillaging.  
  
Jonathan pulled out a ring of keys. "The keys of the city are yours. My private quarters are at your disposal, fair vir- ... I mean, my lady."  
  
"Ishmael, there's an alehouse here. Perhaps you and I can share tales of our adventures over some fine spirits and willing wenches!" Whitney roared, to the approval of his men.  
  
"I'll get a bite to eat, but my religion forbids alcohol ... and the wench thing," Pete replied. Damn, I have to spend an evening with Whitney and his drunken boys? He looked to Chloe for an escape, but she simply shrugged.  
  
"The saints have smiled on you, my lady!" Lana arrived with the army baggage train. A few soldiers were already raising the Maid's banner atop the ramparts. "I shall collect your things, draw you a bath, prepare your meal, polish your armour, offer prayers of thanksgiving to ..."  
  
"Whoa, one at a time, Lana! First of all, get yourself some dinner. Then I'll have my bath."  
  
Lana curtsied. "By your leave, fair maid." She left for the city market.  
  
Chloe sat on a barrel. Sieges are tiring work! She noticed two soldiers in conversation.  
  
"Come on, the Sharks have the best quarterback in the league!" one soldier argued.  
  
"You're nuts! Flutie's still got some good stuff in him, just you wait and see!"  
  
Chloe blinked her eyes rapidly. The NFL? In medieval France?  
  
She awoke. Yes! 2002 again. Jonathan, Luthor and Clark were discussing last Monday's games. She smiled. It's a lazy afternoon. I can afford to take another cat-nap.  
  
When she awoke again, it was cold. Damn! I'm in Le Petit Ville again. The Lord Mayor's drafty chambers. Lana was sobbing beside her bed.  
  
Chloe knelt beside her. "What's the problem, Lana?"  
  
"I shall not bother you with my humble affairs, dear maid. All of France's hopes rest on your shoulders!"  
  
"God and I have an understanding," Chloe grinned, "I can help friends too."  
  
Lana wiped her eyes. "If you wish. I fear that I shall be a spinster!"  
  
Lana ... a spinster? The dream girl of Smallville High. The town's fairy princess? This is definitely a dream.  
  
"Why do you say that?" Chloe put a comforting arm around her.  
  
"Many years ago, I was betrothed to Clark of Lorraine, son of the duke of Lorraine. But the Dauphin disapproved and Clark spurned me for a life of service to the Holy Church. I am loyal to the Dauphin's cause, but I hate him for tearing Clark from me. Is that a sin?"  
  
Lana liking Clark? Some things never change, Chloe mumbled.  
  
"It's not a sin to love someone," Chloe explained, "some thing aren't meant to be. We all have our roles to play. Our focus now must be France - and France alone."  
  
Lana dutifully nodded. "Yes, you are right. It is God's will. But ... do you know how painful it is ... to love someone, knowing that you can never have him?"  
  
Chloe thought of many occasions when Clark opted for Lana's company over hers. I've tried everything to hint at my interest, but he never saw the signals. Or ignored them. Ouch.  
  
"Believe me, Lana, I know all too well. I am the Maid of Orleans, the saviour of France. I've had to leave family and friends behind to serve our Lord. It is a daunting task."  
  
Lana hugged her. "Thank you, fair maid. I see things better now. Our first love must be - always be - France. There will be time for regrets once England is defeated. I shall say prayers on your behalf to St. Michael and St. Catherine." She gathered her robe and scurried to the door.  
  
"Joan of Arc." Lana stared in awe at the short-haired Chloe. "All the world will know you as France's maid-warrior. That, by God's grace, is your destiny." She left for the chapel.  
  
Chloe began to polish her armour. Even in this wacky French dream, Lana got Clark. Now he's wedded to the church. And I'm wedded to France.  
  
She watched a pair of maggots chewing on her salt pork. That was going to be my snack! When am I going to wake up from this mess? 


	3. CH 3

[Yes, we're back in 2002 ...]  
  
Lex nudged Chloe's arm. "Hey, you don't wanna miss this! Clark and Lana are playing Twister. I think you may want to run some interference. It's Twister, for cryin' out loud ..."  
  
"How much further?" Chloe mumbled. Lex was puzzled. What did she say?  
  
Chloe rubbed her eyes. "Who's playing Twister?"  
  
She was in a hay cart on some muddy road. Aww, I'm in France again! Ishmael - umm, Pete - was driving the cart.  
  
"You've been asleep the whole night, Ms. Maid of Orleans," Pete replied, "we had to leave in the middle of the night."  
  
Chloe yawned. "Where's Whitney the Bloody?"  
  
Pete chuckled. "Puking his guts out past that last bend. He had one too many jugs of fine French wine."  
  
"And Clark?" Chloe asked. Maybe if I can have a few words with him.  
  
"Y'know, he's taken his 'vows'. Forsaken the weaker sex. You may be the saviour of France, but I don't think Clark can simply write a letter of resignation just 'cause you've got the hots for him."  
  
Chloe threw some hay at Pete. "DON'T even start with me!" She heared galloping to the rear.  
  
"Forgive my unkempt appearance, my lady," Whitney pleaded, "I take it you've heard the glorious news?"  
  
Pete and Chloe looked at each other and shrugged. "All I heard was that we're supposed to go to Rheims - some cathedral town," Pete stated.  
  
"Our victory, thanks to you, fair maid," Whitney continued, "has sealed French possessions in the north. Charles intends to crown himself King of France!"  
  
There was a rumble of dust far ahead of the road. An older gentleman in a bright blue robe arrived to greet them, accompanied by a dozen similarly dressed soldiers.  
  
Whitney trotted to stop them. "Make way! Step aside for the Maid of Orleans!"  
  
The robed man removed his fluffy hat. "I am Lionel, herald to the Dauphin of France, Prince of Paris, Charles - what the Maid does is for HIS cause!" Hmm, Chloe grumbled, Lionel Luthor is Charles' lapdog. He's still a big bully.  
  
"Keep a cool head, man," Pete held Whitney back. "I wanna kick Lionel's butt as much as you do, but he is gonna be your future King's herald." Whitney took his hand off his sword.  
  
Clark soon followed. "Fair maid?"  
  
"Yes, Lord Abbot," Chloe replied.  
  
"All the countryside awaits outside the cathedral. Charles is to be King. Charles has chosen you, Joan of Arc, to stand in the place of honour beside him at the coronation."  
  
As they entered the town gates, thousands of people - both peasant and noble - flung flower petals before them. Street musicians played songs. Enterprising farmers sold their foodstuffs along the route.  
  
"Wow! They're doing all this for their new king?" A boisterous chant rang out through the crowd: 'God save Joan! God save the Maid!"  
  
"No, my lady," Whitney grinned, "they cheer for you. Charles may be their king. It was you, warrior-virgin, that fought England's sons. You, dear maid, who restored France's glory. They may serve the king ..." Chants erupted along the route, while several people knelt in humility as Chloe passed.  
  
"... but the people of France worship you." Whitney concluded.  
  
Chloe shook her head. "They're just happy they can call themselves Frenchmen and women again."  
  
Pete glanced away. "Don't let it get to your head, Joanie. You know how this is all gonna end."  
  
"It's only a dream," Chloe waved at the adoring public, "I can wake up at any time."  
  
At the cathedral doors, Lionel made an exaggerated bow before Chloe. "Joan of Arc, Saviour of France, your liege lord welcomes you to this most glorious day."  
  
Chloe stood in the middle aisle. France's noble houses stood at attention. She slowly walked to the altar. The Archbishop stood to the left, soon joined by Clark.  
  
Whitney was ecstatic. "Now ... now is your destiny. Take your place in history, fair maid. God be praised!" He knelt in humble adoration.  
  
Pete shrugged. "Hey, whatever makes you happy, man. Better do your thing, Joan-ster."  
  
An imposing figure draped in regal blue robes turned around. No! Charles, the Dauphin and soon to be King of France. It was Lex Luthor ... and what seemed to be an awful brown toupee. Except it was real hair!  
  
The archbishop placed the crown over Lex's head. "Do you, Charles, pledge fealty to the people of France and swear to defend her Holy Church against its enemies?"  
  
"I do pledge to serve France and swear by my life to defend France and the Church."  
  
"You are all witness to this oath," the archbishop declared, and placed the jewel-encrusted crown atop Lex's hair. He then handed Lex a bible and a sceptre. He turned to the audience. "Kneel before your lord and master, Charles, by the grace of God, King of France!"  
  
Chloe saw thousands kneel before King Charles. She was about to kneel, when Lex held her shoulder.  
  
"Stand, dear maid! This crown would not sit on my head without your efforts. Stand, so that all of France will know that Joan of Arc has returned France to her people."  
  
Roars of 'God save the King!" rumbled in the cathedral. But there were also cheers of "All Hail the Maid!" Lex winced at the competing chants, but smirked when Chloe looked up at him. Pete shuddered. Lex, as always, is up to something. This story doesn't have a fairy tale ending.  
  
"Some have called you the queen of their hearts," Clark whispered, "The people adore you, Maid of Orleans."  
  
Chloe waved bashfully at the audience. I'd give up this whole warrior-maid routine, if Clark would only show a sliver of interest in me. Behind those priestly collars, he's beyond reach. Just my luck!  
  
She turned around. Beside the choir, Pete, Clark and Lana were playing Twister. At King Charles' coronation?  
  
"Green, Clark! Put your hand on the green!" Pete hollered.  
  
"That's impossible!" Clark insisted. He reached out, but Pete and Lana toppled on him.  
  
Lex left the archbishop. "Alright kids, break it up! Mrs. Kent just brought out dessert. I've got first dibs on the big piece of cake!"  
  
Chloe blinked herself awake. The hammock ropes had made an impression on her face. Pete raced Lex to the picnic table, while Clark and Lana folded up the Twister mat. They shared a laugh. And traded glances.  
  
Drat, she thought, I was supposed to run interference between those two. She frowned and fell asleep.  
  
When she awoke, she was on another cart. In a cage. She wrinkled her nose in disgust to the putrid smell of medieval garbage.  
  
Uh-oh, Chloe thought.  
  
"Damn it, Chloe, didn't I tell you not to go to Paris?" Pete complained. "The Burgundians ambushed you. They trumped up heresy and treason charges against you!" A crowd of peasants pushed him aside.  
  
Lana thrust a lily in Chloe's hand. "Keep this, warrior-maid! As a token of our faith in you. The commonfolk still believe in you, even though the King no longer does."  
  
"I've been arrested?" Chloe asked, hoping there was some mistake.  
  
"You shall be free, fair maid! By my word you shall!" Whitney screamed. "This is an injustice! Charles would have no kingdom if not for you. My men shed their blood for you, Joan of Arc, not that despot!" A few guards tried to wrestle with Whitney, but a dozen of his men yanked him away. "God protect you, Maid of Orleans!" Whitney yelled.  
  
A hooded man came to the cage. "Just say the word, my lady, one word is all." It was Clark. "My father, the duke of Lorraine, has a thousand men in the valley beyond Rheims. With your leave, I can have you free by dawn. My father will challenge Charles and pursue his own claim to the throne! One word ... and by heaven, Charles' head will adorn these very ramparts! France believes in you ... and so do I!" He pressed his head through the cage and gave Chloe a gentle kiss on the cheek. "On behalf of France," he explained. A party of the King's knights stormed towards the unruly mob. Chloe feared for Clark's life and violently shook her head. "I must play my role. My sacrifice. You have your duty. It is to live. Live, Clark! Please."  
  
Clark then melted into the jeering crowd. No longer in blind adoration, they sought mayhem and death. The death of the Maid.  
  
Chloe crouched in the middle of the cage and hugged her knees. This dream isn't fun. I want to wake up.  
  
Now. 


	4. CH 4

The conclusion to my Chloe-centred, historical fluff-fest ...  
  
[Back in the hammock, 2002]  
  
Chloe squinted. The sun was blinding. Mr. Kent, Lex and Pete were playing catch. "Nice catch, Pete!" Lex hollered. "Hey, I got game!" Pete replied. At the picnic table, Martha and Lana appeared to be in a deep conversation. "I'm just searching for something, you know," Lana began, "Trying to find my niche."  
  
Where's Clark? "Clark? Clark where are you?" Chloe mumbled in her sleep.  
  
She blinked again. The foul stench of medieval France returned again. Her hands were bound with thick rope. I'm on a wooden wagon, Chloe noticed. The gates flung open. Boos and hisses shrieked throughout the courtyard. The masses were here for a show.  
  
The execution of the Maid of Orleans. Whitney reined in the harness, as a group of peasants blocked his path and flung rotten vegetables at Chloe.  
  
"I'm to be executed?" Chloe demanded.  
  
"Yes, fair maid," Whitney replied. "You have been convicted of heresy and witchcraft. The ... purity ... of fire shall purge your soul of the demons."  
  
"I thought you were in my corner, Whitney!" Chloe exclaimed. Another tomato smacked her in the cheek  
  
"You fulfilled your destiny, dear maid. France has her King. But you defied the King's wishes by marching on Paris - without his approval."  
  
Chloe scoffed. "I'm not buying that. C'mon, fess up. What did the great Charles offer you?"  
  
Whitney bowed his head in shame. "Forgive me, gracious lady. His Majesty offered to make me a lord of the realm. A lord! On this mortal world, he is my liege and master. It is God's will."  
  
How typical of Lex, Chloe pouted. Even in France, he managed to dazzle her friends with his wealth.  
  
Lionel, the king's herald, read the charges. "Joan of Arc has claimed to speak for God. To know what He is thinking. By order of the court, you have been convicted of heresy and witchcraft." Drums began to roll.  
  
"The sentence, to be carried out this day, is death. You shall be tied to a stake until burned to death .... your body consumed by the purifying flames of justice. You may now beg for forgiveness, in the hopes that you may save your soul."  
  
Chloe glanced at the ramparts. Clark had shed his abbot's robes for the tunic of the duke of Lorraine. What's he up to? The crowd called for her blood. Whitney and the king's guards shoved the mob aside and led Chloe to the stake.  
  
Whitney tied her arms around the stake. "I am sorry for this, Joan of Arc. I have my duty."  
  
Chloe sighed. "We all have our roles to play. This is my fate. My destiny."  
  
"Know that France will remember your deeds, long after Charles' reign." Whitney left to join the guards.  
  
Pete managed to push his way through the crowd. "Chloe ... I mean, Joan ... look up there!" He pointed to the ramparts. Clark had pulled out a crossbow. Aimed at Lionel.  
  
"We can get you out of this. Clark's rounded up his father's men. A jail break. We'll take down Lionel. Come on, this is a ridiculous dream. I'm gonna rewrite history now!"  
  
Chloe shook her head violently. "No!" She looked across to the ramparts and mouthed "No."  
  
Pete became anxious. "Look, Chloe, I know you think you're sticking to your principles. That's why you're identifying with Joan of Arc. Okay, you proved it. You're willing to make sacrifices for what you believe. End of story. Now can we get out of this dream?"  
  
Chloe glanced at the crowd. Lana was there. She weaved her way up to the front of the mob.  
  
"I shall pray for you," Lana bowed her head reverently. "You are truly a sign of the divine."  
  
"Uhh, thanks," Chloe nodded.  
  
"You have shown Clark the light of truth. He has left the Church! The King has forced the duke to honour Clark's wishes. We are to be betrothed. God bless you, warrior-maid!"  
  
Ohh - that bites, Chloe grumbled. Even here, Lana managed to win Clark's affections. She was tempted to rewrite the ending of this legend, but she wanted to see it through.  
  
It's just a dream, she thought. The guards lit the bonfire. Sparks became flames. She looked again at Clark atop the ramparts. Clark began to descend the steps.  
  
Pete dashed up the stairs. "No! This is what she wants. You barge down there, the king will surely strip you of your inheritance. You'll lose Lana!"  
  
"God be with you, Maid of Orleans!" Clark continued to yell. He wept uncontrollably into Pete's shoulders.  
  
Pete shrugged, and looked at Chloe. "Watch your feet, Chloe." He nodded towards the bonfire.  
  
Ouch! she yelped. A few sparks had jumped onto her clothing. Okay ... I'm ready to wake up.  
  
Any time now.  
  
The flames flicked closer. They were at her feet now.  
  
Chloe shook her head. "No! I want to wake up now! Now!" Lana had clasped her hands together in silent prayer. Whitney stood on the wagon, blubbering like a baby. Oh, the melodrama. Clark was still crying. Pete was obviously irritated at the display. Why is Clark so sad, Chloe wondered. He won Lana's hand in marriage!  
  
Isn't that what he always wanted. Too hot, she mumbled deliriously. Too hot.  
  
"What's too hot?" Clark had asked. She was in the hammock again.  
  
"What? Where - where am I?" Chloe asked.  
  
Pete frowned. "We're in 2002, Chloe. You've been sleeping for hours."  
  
"Well, thanks for waking me up, guys!" Chloe pinched Pete on the arm.  
  
"I told Clark to wake up the sleeping beauty," Lex added, "but 'prince charming' wanted to talk football with the boys instead."  
  
"You must have been dreaming!" Lana declared. "It must have been some dream. Or, were you dreaming ... of someone?"  
  
"If I told you guys, you'd probably laugh." Chloe rubbed her eyes and yawned.  
  
"Hey, that Joan of Arc mini-series is about to begin," Lex interrupted, "I get first dibs on the couch."  
  
"Not if I get there first!" Pete dared. He and Lex raced into the farmhouse.  
  
"They're both going to be disappointed," Clark chuckled. "My dad's been sleeping there for the past half hour! I'll see you inside." He sprinted up to the door.  
  
Lana sat beside Chloe. "So ... about that dream ..."  
  
Chloe giggled. "It's stupid ..."  
  
Lana smiled. "Aww, come on. It must have been good, if it kept you asleep the whole afternoon!"  
  
Chloe took a deep breath. "Oh, alright. I dreamed about being Joan of Arc. It was so real, I could smell the mud, the straw ..."  
  
"... the rotting vegetables ..." Lana added.  
  
"You were there. So was Whitney. And Pete. Lex and his dad were there. Not surprisingly, Lex was the king of France. Oh, and Clark was in it, too."  
  
"So did Clark have a lead role in your fantasy?" Lana grinned.  
  
"Lana!" Chloe blushed. "We're just friends."  
  
"Chloe, you don't have to pretend anymore. Just because Whitney's left for the Marines doesn't mean I'm rushing into Clark's arms. We're just good friends, that's all. You ... go right ahead and put those Sullivan moves on the Kent boy." Lana curtsied. "By your leave, Chloe, Maid of Smallville. Lord Clark wishes an audience with you." She jogged towards the farmhouse.  
  
Chloe gazed across the horizon. The Kansas twilight sky blazed with orange, purple and red.  
  
Did Lana just tell me that I have the green light to pursue Clark Kent?  
  
Maybe I don't have to wait for the hereafter to receive my just rewards. "Lana?" Chloe called.  
  
"Yes, fair maid." Lana bowed.  
  
"Please tell Clark that the Maid of Smallville would like a word with him. In private."  
  
Lana slipped into the farmhouse. Chloe laughed. Maybe I won't save a kingdom in my lifetime, she thought, but I can still get my own knight.  
  
Prepare to meet thy fate, Clark Kent ...  
  
THE END 


End file.
